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“I just want to sleep.”
“No ‘Go, team, go’?”
I knew I wasn’t going to get him off my case, but maybe if I turned my head to look out the window…
“You’re down to twenty-seconds.”
“Make them count, Prescott!” was yelled from the front of the bus. No doubt, it was Kolak. If he were close enough, I’d tell him what I thought of him for throwing me under the bus. Unfortunately, Kolak and Payne preferred the front of the bus, my man Ketty preferred the solitude of the back of the bus, and I always found myself smack-dab in the middle.
Figuring I wasn’t going to get out of this one, I shook my head and spoke up, not showing my face. “I just want to sleep, boys. So how about you all just sleep it off. Tomorrow’s a new day, new game. We have plenty of time to make something of ourselves.” I had a lot more to say, but it would do no good now. Besides, I just held the A to my chest; I wasn’t captain.
What I really wanted to say, though, was we had too much fucking potential to keep playing the way we had been. Rather than extending that potential though, we had guys who tired easily, or just plain wanted to slack off at the worst of times. If we all hustled from beginning to end, if we all fought hard and pushed for it, we could be a team at the top of the league. I felt it in my bones.
I said none of that, instead turning my attention back to the rook. “You happy?”
“‘Eh,” he said, shrugging a shoulder. “It could be better. Work on it.” The fucker laughed as he turned to move back to his spot in the rear.
Shaking my head, I tried to get comfortable. We were on our way down to Houston—one of those long-assed trips that would be much more comfortable on a plane. I never did sleep well on buses, but we’d hit town in the morning, have a quick tapes meeting where we’d go over plays and Houston’s play videos, and then nap.
Shit, I was most excited to nap. We may not have the best in transportation, but we stayed at some pretty nice hotels. I could imagine the down comforter...
As I closed my eyes, trying to feel the pillows and sheets, a vision of short, dark hair filled my mind, and I found myself digging the folded piece of paper out of my pocket.
It never did make it to a trash can…
Holding it up in front of my face, close enough to see the white in the dark confines of the bus, I flipped it between my fingers. Resting my elbow on the window sill of my seat, I rubbed at my temple with my index finger, debating.
I could still put it in the trash.
It wasn’t anything important.
I didn’t have time to make nice with a puck bunny.
This year, my focus was on proving myself worthy of a call-up. It was about playing the ice hard, not the field. Women wanted sex, but then they wanted commitment, and right now, the only commitment I had time for was with the team. I also didn’t need another person—in addition to my parents and sister—to have to worry about when it came time for me to move teams.
Not that I had to worry about them exactly, but where I ended up was as important to them as it was to me.
…But then that high blush filled my memory banks, and I could picture that same coloring going down the woman’s neck, flushing her upper chest…
I gave in.
I told myself it was because it was late, and I needed a quick laugh, a quick disgruntled groan, a quick...shit, something to ease my body into sleep.
With the note in hand, I reached up to turn on the light that accompanied my seat, hitting the soft-touch button with my pinky, before bringing the note back down and unfolding the sheet.
The handwriting was soft and feminine, but not loopy like some girls’, and the note was short, but much longer than just a telephone number.
Frowning, I let my eyes move over the sweeping of ink.
Noah—
I’m sure you get it all the time, but I must join the parade and inform you that you are gorgeous. Now, by no means am I a puck bunny, jersey chaser, what have you, nor is that my intent. I simply... Honestly, I’m not sure what I would accomplish by this, but I wanted to, so I did. And if you received it, that means a well-intending friend pushed me to go through with it.
On another note, you have an amazing talent that I cannot wait to watch grow as you move from AHL to NHL, as I’m sure you want from your career. I look forward to watching your career thrive.
—Ryleigh Scott
I turned the paper over, re-read the two short paragraphs, only to re-read it again, sure that I missed something, but nope...there was no number, no innuendo.
